


Hold Me

by crazyjane



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Hugs, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, M/M, Past Character Death, Reginald Hargreeves' A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:52:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazyjane/pseuds/crazyjane
Summary: Four times Klaus was there to hold someone who really needed it, and one time Klaus needed to be held.





	Hold Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solovei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solovei/gifts).



> This is for [Solovei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solovei/pseuds/Solovei), who made puppy eyes, so how could I resist?
> 
>  
> 
> The date assigned for Ben's death is based on Vanya's comment to Allison in canon that they haven't seen each other for twelve years. Since it's known that the team broke up after Ben died, that makes it 2007.

 

I should be better off without you

You take a pride in making me blue

\-- _We’re Through_ , The Hollies

 

Vanya’s sitting on the stairs when Klaus sees her, on his way to raid the kitchen. There’s a moment of sheer dislocation; she looks smaller, somehow younger. _That’s where she always used to sit_. She looks up as his steps slow, and he forgets about food and climbs the stairs to flop down beside her. ‘Hey.’

‘Hey.’ She looks tired, but the smile is genuine. It’s always been like this between them, numbers Four and Seven, the kid who was too weird, and the one who wasn’t weird enough. Rolling their eyes at each other whenever Sir Reginald was lecturing. Sneaking away to steal the cookie jar and seeing how many they could stuff into their faces before Mom caught them. Never quite losing touch, even if it was only through the occasional phone call when he was straight enough to remember her number. 

‘I shouldn’t have come back,’ she says. ‘I don’t know why I did, this is the last place I ever thought I’d set foot in again. And for what? For him?’

He shrugs. ‘I know. It’s fucked. It’s not like we owe him anything, after all. Not after what he did.’ _Especially to you. He treated you like shit, and we all just let him do it._ ‘But you know what? Not actually surprised to see you here. You always were the best of us, V.’

She doesn’t acknowledge this, doesn’t turn her head but Klaus can feel without looking how her lips purse in cynical disbelief. _God, he did a number on you_ , he thinks, silently wishing Sir Reginald an eternity in a hell full of disobedient toddlers with sticky hands.

‘I spent all this time trying to be my own person, you know? Someone who was more than just number Seven, the ordinary girl. And I was getting pretty good at it, I have a life now and I’m third chair, maybe even have a shot at being first someday. But then he has to go and die and suddenly I’m back _here_ , and it’s like none of that ever happened.’

There’s so much pain and confusion in her voice. All Klaus can think of to say is, ‘Well, shit, I really hope you’re wrong about that, because otherwise I’ve been having some crazy fucking hallucinations about scamming my way backstage to hear you play.’ Now she glances at him, surprised. ‘What? Don’t look at me like I’m some caveman who just picked up a knife and fork, I am _actually_ cultured, you know.’ He emphasises this by picking up an imaginary cup of tea, pinkie finger stuck out straight.

‘You’re an idiot,’ she says, shoving him. Grinning, he puts an arm around her shoulders and pulls her towards him. There’s a moment’s resistance, then she leans against him. They sit like that for a while, not talking; then she stirs, and picks up right where she left off. ‘So, yeah, here I am. And I guess I realised. I haven’t become anyone new, not really. I just … tried to define myself as everything that wasn’t something _he_ put on me, you know. And now he’s gone.

‘So who am I now, Klaus?’

To that, he has no answer, so he just sits beside her and holds her,. She shuffles closer and lays her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, and he squeezes her gently, just enough. ‘You give the best hugs,’ she says.

‘It’s my superpower,’ he says. ‘My real one. That talking to the dead stuff, that’s just a side gig.’ He looks up to see Ben glaring at him, hands on hips, and blows a kiss. ‘I actually have the power to make bad shit go away by hugging. But ssh, don’t tell, it’s supposed to be a secret.’

As he’d hoped, she laughs. ‘You’re ridiculous. But … thanks. I guess I’ll figure it all out eventually, but this … it really helps.’

‘I think I know something else that would help.’ She lifts her head, and he gives her a smile that promises mischief and headaches for other people and probably a good scolding. ‘Wanna go steal Mom’s cookies?’

 

**2002**

 

Seasons change with their scenery

Weaving time in a tapestry

Won’t you stop and remember me

\-- _Hazy Shade of Winter_ , Gerard Way & Ray Toro

 

‘I know he’s not dead. At least I don’t think he is? You’d know if he was, wouldn’t you?’ Allison looks hopefully at Klaus, sitting on the bed next to her, but all he has for her is a one-shouldered shrug.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘It doesn’t really work like that. I mean, he’s not here, I haven’t seen him since he … you know. But that’s not a guarantee of anything, so … um … sorry.’

She gives him that familiar, exasperated sidelong look that she knows he hates. _Here it comes_ , bracing himself for yet another scornful commentary on how she has no idea how he got to be number Four when clearly he’s so much less useful than the rest of them. Instead, she just sighs and looks down at her hands again. ‘It’s not even as though I liked him, really. He was always so annoying, especially that “superior intellect” crap he used to pull. You remember, right? He treated us like we were all morons. I suppose we were, compared to him, but he just made me so _mad_ all the time.’

‘Oh man, yeah, that goddamn smirk of his. You know Ben and I had a bet going whether it would end up being you or Diego that smacked it off his face?’

‘Don’t tell me,’ she sniffs. ‘You bet on Diego.’

 _Walked right into that_ , he thinks, grinning. ‘Hell no, I’m not stupid. Diego knows he’d catch hell from Mom if he took a swing at any of us again. My money’s on you, because you’d just tell Mom to stick it.’

She concedes the point with a shrug. ‘I keep expecting him to just appear again, and be so pleased with himself, god, can you imagine it? Sitting there at the breakfast table looking smug and going on about it and being generally insufferable, and Daddy dearest choking on his marmalade toast because his number Five brat proved him wrong after all.’

It’s such an accurate description of what would probably happen that Klaus can see it clearly, and lets out a little snort as he pictures Sir Reginald coughing, and turning purple, and Mom pounding him ineffectually on the back while the rest of them struggle not to laugh. He turns to her, palm held up for a high-five, but his amusement dies when he sees that, for all her irritated, flippant attitude, she’s close to tears. ‘Allie …’

Her voice shaking now, Allison says, ‘What if he _is_ dead? Somewhere out there, maybe between those dimensions he was always going on about. We might never know. I keep thinking about … The last thing I said to him was, you know, I can’t even remember properly, I just know it was something shitty because I was pissed off at him, but if he’s really gone, that’s the last thing and I can’t _ever_ take that back …’

‘Allie,’ he says again, this time reaching out to pull her into an awkward, sideways hug, expecting her to shove him away like she always does. She just leans in and, while she doesn’t hug him back, she lets him hold her and rub her back and just for a while, he really feels like something he does actually makes a difference around her. 

And then, of course, she pushes him sideways so hard he nearly falls off the bed and tells him to keep his hands off, and everything is back to normal again. Or as normal as it ever gets around here, anyway. There’s no real anger in her voice, though, so he just gives her a sweeping, mocking bow and beats a hasty retreat as she picks up something to throw.

 

**2007**

 

There in the darkness I can still see your smile

And I know I’m memory bound

\-- _Memory Bound_ , Don McGinnis

 

It probably shouldn’t be a surprise to Klaus that Diego is the first one he runs into down in the little courtyard with the square of lawn already marked off and dug up. Since it happened, since Ben - and Klaus glances at the silent, frowning figure next to him that only he can see - Diego’s done everything possible to keep away from the rest of them. It makes a weird kind of sense that he’d be here, scowling at the site of what will soon be a statue that’s somehow supposed to make up for losing a brother. He retreats a few steps. ‘Maybe we should come back later,’ he mutters, but Ben just shakes his head firmly. ‘You know this is morbid, right? Like wanting to visit your own grave, or something, definitely not healthy.’ Still no answer, and Klaus sighs. ‘God, I can’t _wait_ until you figure out how to talk again, because these one-way conversations are boring as hell.’

Ben just gives a look that says _fuck you_ more clearly than any words could express. He’s still not quite all there, slightly transparent in places, but at least he looks better than most of the ghosts Klaus has seen. No gruesome deathmarks. When he finally gets himself together, he’s going to look, well, almost alive. And that’s the weirdest thing about all the weird bullshit of the last few days, that not so long ago he was holding Ben’s dead body, and now here he is talking to him like nothing ever happened and getting another look that says _go on you chickenshit, get out there_. 

‘All right, all right, I’m going, I’m going,’ he says, throwing up his hands. Walking out into the courtyard again, he makes more noise this time, but Diego doesn’t turn around. ‘Uh … hey,’ Klaus says uncertainly. ‘Mind if I join you?’

‘It’s a free country,’ says Diego. Not exactly a welcome, but not _fuck off you creepy loser_ , so a qualified win, and Klaus will take that any day. He moves up to stand just behind Diego, and off to one side a bit, looking at the patch of exposed dirt with its carefully squared-off corners. They don’t talk, and the silence is almost unbearable, because Klaus can feel how crammed with words it really is.

‘It’s just like old Monocle, isn’t it?’ he says, finally. Without waiting for an answer, he continues, ‘Ignores Ben for most of his life, and as soon as he’s gone - boom, life-size statue and a _truly_ offensive inscription.’ He gestures at the plinth standing ready to be put in place, bronze plaque already affixed to it. Ben, of course, decides that it’s necessary to look at it up close, which is stupidly distracting. ‘ _May the darkness within you find peace in the light_? What kind of crap is that? As if he ever cared how much it fucked Ben up to use his power.’

‘It wasn’t Sir Reginald.’ Diego’s voice is so quiet that for a moment, Klaus isn’t sure he actually heard anything. ‘The statue was his idea, but the inscription? That was Mom.’

‘Oh.’ It’s the last thing Klaus expects, but really, why should it be? It’s part of Mom’s job to care about them. ‘How … how is she?’ Feeling like an idiot for asking about a goddamn _robot_.

Diego shakes his head. ‘She’s baking. She says it helps. I think she’s already made more pies than even Luther can eat.’

‘I think you underestimate the bottomless pit that is Luther’s stomach,’ replies Klaus absently. focused on studying the way Diego’s shoulders hunch and his fists clench. _He’s not okay, he’s really not okay_. 

‘Do you think he’s still here?’ Diego says, suddenly turning to face him. ‘Do you see him?’

Klaus opens his mouth to say _yeah, he’s right over there being a dick_ , but over Diego’s shoulder he sees Ben shaking his head frantically. _You don’t want him to know? Why? He’d feel better_. There’s no way Ben can hear him, not that it would make any difference, because his brother’s ghost just mouths _no_ at him, and he can’t go against that. Aware that he’s standing there looking like a stranded fish with his mouth open, Klaus just gives Diego a helpless look. ‘Maybe,’ he says, ignoring Ben’s furious look. ‘He might turn up, I don’t know. Not everyone … comes back.’ Diego turns away again. 

Klaus takes advantage of the moment to give Ben a look he hopes says, _come on, I had to say something, why are you being such a jerk about this_ , but from Ben’s confused expression, he may have just done a creditable impression of an epileptic hamster. Abandoning further attempts at non-verbal communication, Klaus turns his attention back to Diego. _I should get him talking_ , he thinks. _Isn’t that what you do when this stuff happens?_ But there’s nothing in his head, nothing at all, because this _doesn’t_ happen, not to them. With Five, there’s still the possibility he might come back one day, and Ben might be less than six feet away watching, but Diego doesn’t know that, and for some reason Ben won’t let Klaus say anything. For Diego, Ben’s gone forever. And so Klaus can only stand there being useless and let the silence thicken and curdle between them.

‘What did he have to go and do that for? Stupid little _shit_.’ Diego sounds harsh and angry, jolts Klaus out of his pointless recriminations. It’s a voice that’s usually a prelude to Diego hitting something, often Klaus himself, and Klaus thinks, _I should go now_. Then he hears how Diego’s last word shivers and nearly breaks apart, and sees Diego’s chest hitch and he doesn’t stop to think. He steps up behind Diego and catches him around the waist, pushes his head against Diego’s back, and simply holds him while he cries. He doesn’t make a sound, even when Diego wraps his own arms around himself to grab at Klaus’ elbows so tightly it hurts, because none of them have seen Diego’s tears since Five went. Klaus knows that if he draws attention to his presence, Diego will pull back in on himself and lock everything down, so he shuts his eyes and holds on, and when the storm finally leaves, he gently unlocks Diego’s fingers from his bruised arms and walks away without a backward glance.

 

**1968**

 

I don’t want you to leave

Won’t you hold my hand

\-- _Stay with Me_ , Sam Smith & Mary J. Blige

 

No warning, no sound of a rifle shot, no scream. Just a quiet ‘ _huh_ ’ from Dave, as though he’d realised something, two steps backward, then his legs just … stop working, and he goes down to his knees. _He stumbled, that’s all_ , ‘Graceful like a hippo, man, come on, get up,’ reaching out a hand to pull him up and then Dave looks up and _oh god so pale._ Klaus crashes to the ground, grabbing for him, catching him just as he pitches forward.

‘Dave? _Dave_?’ No answer, just terrible, laboured gasps. Cradling him, and now Klaus can see how his shirt has darkened, feel wetness under his fingers, _he’s dying, he’s dying, no he’s not he can’t he can’t_ , ‘Dave! No, baby, stay with me, don’t you leave me, oh god, medic! _Medic_!’ Running feet, shots fired all around him, yelling, panicked voices, but none of it matters. It’s not real, anyway. The only real thing here is bleeding out in his arms. ‘Please, please, please, don’t do this … you have to stay with me, I need you …’

A shudder, and for one blinding moment of panic, Klaus thinks _he’s gone_. Then Dave’s hand comes up, bloodied, grimy with gun grease and dirt, and cups Klaus’ face. ‘I’m sorry …’ Barely more than a whisper, louder than a scream, louder than all the chaos around them. 

‘No … no … don’t say it,’ pants Klaus, ‘you’ll be okay, they’ll fix you and you’ll go home and when I get out of here too we’ll …’ Dave just shakes his head, hand slipping down to lie limply over Klaus’ arm. ‘No, no, oh no, oh no …’

‘I gotta go, baby … gonna rest now.’ Impossible, sweet smile, twisted and tense with agony but _so much love_ , ‘Sing me to sleep?’

Klaus lets out a loud sob. _Don’t ask me how can you ask me_ … Deep, shaking breath, _do this for him_ , the first song that pops into his head and any other time he’d laugh at the choice. ‘Day destroys the night ….’ No strength in his voice at all, but he knows Dave can hear. ‘Night divides the day,’ just like back in Saigon, Dave too wired to relax, climbing into bed and pulling Klaus into his arms and Klaus stroking his hair and singing whatever stupid songs came into his head until Dave finally let go enough to sleep. 

‘Try to run … try to hide.’ Heavier in his arms now, but Klaus just holds on more tightly, keeps singing, ragged, half-crazy, his lover’s blood soaking into his fatigues. 

‘Break on through … to the other side,’ oh god, the fucking irony of it, ‘break on … through …’ His voice fails. No mistake this time. _Absence_.

People around him, then, hands reaching, all he do is shake his head and pull Dave right into his lap and rock him and whisper _live, baby, please, live_ and stare at nothing. And hold on until they pry his arms apart and leave him empty.

 

**2019**

 

I was standing

You were there

Two worlds collided

And they can never tear us apart

\-- _Never Tear Us Apart_ , INXS

 

And suddenly Klaus is _right there_ , walking along the street, and Ben feels as though he’s about to faint from the sheer relief that surges through him. Not that he _can_ faint, but that’s what it feels like, because Klaus was _gone_ , he was _gone_ , and for the first time since he died, Ben knew what it was like to be a ghost. 

‘Oh, thank god, there you are, what the hell happened? One minute you were on a bus and the next … you just disappeared, where _were_ you?’

Klaus just keeps shuffling, not looking where he’s going, numb, aimless. Looking at him, Ben frowns. ‘Uh, far be it from me to critique your oh-so-individual fashion sense, but army chic? Not really _you_. And that new tattoo, and the dog tags? Taking it a bit far, isn’t it?’

Ben waits for the clap-back, maybe something about how at least Klaus _can_ change his clothes when he wants to and isn’t stuck in some dated hoodie-and-jacket look. It doesn’t come. _What’s going on?_ He pushes down rising panic. ‘Well, say something. You can hear me, right? I know you can, I mean, you didn’t just lose your … oh no, don’t tell me I’m talking to myself here.’ Stepping right in front of him, getting in his eyeline, ‘ _Klaus_.’

Klaus stops, then, and just looks at Ben, and for a moment it’s like he’s looking right through him. ‘Don’t do that. Don’t. You can see me. Tell me you can see me.’ _Don’t leave me alone_.

‘Yeah, I can see you.’ Klaus’ voice is awful, flat and thin and just _words_. There’s no teasing, flirting tone, none of his usual sarcastic humour. Not even that faint nervous tremor that usually underlies everything, like Klaus is five seconds away from shivering into tiny pieces. _He’s barely even here_.

In an instant, Ben forgets his own fear. ‘What happened? What’s wrong?’

Klaus’ face works, but otherwise there’s no sign of anything but that same frightening numbness. ‘Nothing. Everything.’

Ben’s heart doesn’t beat anymore, he doesn’t need oxygen, so he can’t be shaking with adrenalin, can’t be fighting to catch his breath, and yet, and yet. Because this isn’t Klaus, this shell standing slumped in front of him. Even at his lowest, strung out or jonesing or weeping drunkenly into an eyeliner-stained pillow after yet another break-up, Klaus is full of _life_ , but this man with his grimy, bloodied hands and his eyes clouded with grief … _is more dead than I am_. That thought is unbelievable, unimaginable, scares the hell out of him. ‘Talk to me,’ he urges. ‘Tell me what’s wrong.’

‘No point,’ says Klaus. ‘Nothing you can do. Nothing anyone can do. He’s …’ His breath catches, and even though the tone doesn’t change, tears rise in his eyes and spill down his cheeks with his next words. ‘He was right there, and then he just, he fell down, and I said get up, hippo, and there was _so much blood_ …’ Shoulders shaking now, that horrible, indifferent tone cracking, ‘and he said … and I sang, and … and he … oh god, I really, really wish you could just hold me right now ...’ 

It’s pure instinct that makes Ben reach out, he knows he can’t touch but the need in Klaus’ voice is too much to bear. He wraps insubstantial arms around his brother’s thin frame, thinking _I wish I could, too_ \- and freezes in shock as he feels, _feels_ dirty cotton and warmth and skin and Klaus grabbing for him, pushing against his body, holding onto him like he’s the only solid thing in the world. _This can’t be happening_. Klaus shudders, and drops his head onto Ben’s shoulder, face turned towards his neck. He sobs, once, and then he’s crying silently. Ben knows how it must look to anyone passing by, some scrawny, crazy junkie hanging onto empty air, and he couldn’t care less. They’re touching, finally, and sure, this moment is about Klaus and his grief but there’s warmth blooming in Ben’s chest now, because he can feel Klaus’ heart thudding through his skin, can feel _everything_ , and he doesn’t think Klaus would begrudge him that.

The world goes on around them like they’re not even there, and that’s just fine with Ben. He keeps his arms locked tight around Klaus, lets Klaus wrap himself around him and hang on for dear life, and wishes this impossible embrace would never end.

 


End file.
